Page 237 of The Reluctant Hero

“Your massage table is ready.”

My brows furrow at the thought.

“Like, a naked massage?” I ask dubiously.

“That’s the best way,” she answers as if I shouldn’t be having doubts. Then again, she’s not the one that’s going to be bare-assed on a table.

“There will be a towel to cover you from waist to thigh.”

Yeah, that’s great until I have to roll over and bare my tits to some poor masseuse.

Loser bought me a few spa days before this. Those sessions involved a soak and massage with an added aloe rub down. I always wussed out on being naked, leaving my bra and underwear on.

Screw it. I’m going all out today.

“I’ll be right out.”

There’s a towel sitting not far from the tub for me to dry off. I wrap the robe around myself tightly and open the door like I’m in a horror movie. The woman is right there with a wide smile. Completely innocent. For now.

“This way.”

My eyes narrow as she moves down to another door.

It’s a sauna. Of course, it is. Bench seating and everything. In the middle is a massage table with a pot of oil warming nearby. The room is rich with the scent of lemongrass and lavender. The temperature in the room is nice, making the robe feel a little stifling. I smell a potpourri setup. This is a lot fancier than the massages of the past.

She shows me the towel and leaves quickly.

I let out a disgruntled sigh and strip again. This better be all it’s hyped up as. I lay belly down and awkwardly cover myself. There’s a mini pillow for me to rest my head on, but it’s thin. I use my arms to give myself more lift.

While I wait, my eyes close. I’m almost tempted to sleep when the door opens quietly and closes. I don’t bother opening my eyes.

The smell of Ace’s cologne weaves in with the faint scent of the oil. My heart rate picks up in response. It smells different on him than it does in the bottle. I’m glad I’m belly down on the massage table now. The way my nipples peak in response is embarrassing.

Before I can protest, his hands are on my shoulders, slick with warm oil. Anything I could have said dies in my throat.

His hands are rough in the most pleasant way. A man used to hard work instead of posh living. The way he kneads out the tension in my shoulders is perfect. I swallow a groan at the insistent pressure. There’s no way a muscle wouldn’t submit to his touch.

His hands move down, massaging the whole way. The only time he stops, he gets more warm oil. His attention doesn’t stray for long. And he is focused. There isn’t a spot on my back that he hasn’t touched.

When he reaches the towel, he doesn’t hesitate to slide underneath, pushing it out of the way to see my bare ass. I’m too relaxed to give it a second thought. I want his hands there.On my legs working out the aches. Anywhere. Despite my loose muscles, my heart hasn’t slowed down, a heavy throb in my chest that’s pure anticipation echoed below my waist.

He skips over my butt, making me pout a little. He makes up for it by massaging my legs one at a time. If he asked me to roll over, I wouldn’t be able to move. Every time his hands go higher on my thighs, I’m convinced he’s going to touch me. His rough fingertips are so close. But he never does. The anticipation continues to build, settling low in my belly.

His hands disappear for a moment, and then I feel oil spill all over my butt cheeks. So much of it that it pools in the dip of my spine. It’s hotter this time, the perfect temperature for a bath. I feel it pour along the seam of my ass to make a puddle underneath me too.

When he grabs my ass cheeks, his hands freeze up as his fingers sink in. For a second, it isn’t a massage. It’s a man appreciating an ass that overfills his palms. Then he’s massaging again. He’s slower here, so concentrated on the flesh that my breath starts coming out rougher. Underneath the soft music, I can hear him, too. Breathing in harsh pants of air as his thumbs barely part the seam again and again. He sounds like he’s losing focus, but his hands don’t stop.

When he parts the seam of my cheeks, it isn’t startling. It’s a natural progression to what’s happening. He impatiently scoops the oil from the dip in my spine to soak my hole in pleasant warmth.

“Ace,” I whisper as if I’m about to finally protest.

My voice breaking the simmering silence is the catalyst to open his mouth.

A hitching breath comes from above me before his thumbs massage deeper into the seam. Until he reaches my hole and gently rubs across it.

“I’d ask if you’ve ever had a man here, but I don’t want the answer,” his tone is gravelly as he presses firmly on it. “The thought of it is pissin’ me off.”

I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut at the inexorable pressure. I don’t fight against it. More oil gets taken from the puddle under me. I can tell because it’s cooler in temperature.

---